


Fuck Human Resources

by MiladyMorningstar (PrincessPestilence)



Series: Fuck My Life [1]
Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: Boss/Employee Relationship, Cunnilingus, Drunk Sex, F/F, FML, Frottage, Kink Meme, Morning After, Nipple Play, Prompt Fic, Prompt Fill, Top!Gwen, Tribadism, Vaginal Fingering
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-01
Updated: 2016-03-01
Packaged: 2018-05-24 02:57:33
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,174
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6138958
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PrincessPestilence/pseuds/MiladyMorningstar
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <em>Today, I woke up next to my boss naked. We are both women and she is married. Work should be interesting tomorrow. FML</em>
</p>
            </blockquote>





	Fuck Human Resources

**Author's Note:**

> Written for [this](http://kinkme-merlin.livejournal.com/25900.html?thread=26501420#t26501420%22%22) prompt on the Kink Meme. Part 2 of my 12 Months of Femslash project that I'm working on (should I add them all into a collection/series? let me know)
> 
> [My friend](http://archiveofourown.org/users/robyngirlwonder/pseuds/robyngirlwonder) requested that I write it reversed (Boss!Gwen rather than Boss!Morgana), which I thought sounded fun, but I'm not sure how I feel about it, it was kind of difficult to get Morgana's voice right, and to write her in more of a submissive headspace than I am used to. I'll play around with it more later as the series continues.

_There's a giggling in her ear and a few warm fingers insinuating themselves into the curve of her cleavage; a body pressed close against her own--_

 

 

_*_

 

 

_They duck clumbsily into an car, but she doesn't notice because there's a wetwarm mouth trailing down her sensitive neck, and the small, sober part of her mind hopes that no one saw them because she doesn't want anyone to think she got this job because she's fucking her boss._

 

_An image flashes in her mind of her boss in fancy-dress as a sleezy old man and she giggles, high-pitched and inane and then the two of them are set off again, laughing and kissing and touching--_

 

 

_*_

 

 

_They tumble into a wide, warm bed. The sheets have probably got a high thread count, but she's only got a moment to ponder this because those soft hands are stronger than they look, and quick too, because her dress is already unzipped and half off her body--_

 

 

_*_

 

 

_Thick thighs bracket her head and a hot cunt, so so wet hangs tantalizingly above her and she is far,_

_far too drunk to deny such a temptation – has imagined pressing her nose into these heady curls since the day she got hired here--_

 

 

_*_

 

 

 _There're fingers rubbing her clit and she can't take much more of this. The pressure is too much, but she won't_ stop _! Just keeps circling round and round and round 'til she's wound so tight she--_

 

 

*

 

 

Morgana groans, curling up tightly in the foetal position, duvet pulled up over her head to block out the painful morning light. Her head is throbbing and her stomach rolls. She's in desperate need of a toothbrush and it takes her far too long to realise that this is not her bed.

 

She subtley runs her hand down her body, taking inventory and realising that yes, she in, in fact naked.

 

It was unlikely that she'd ended up in someone else's bed whilst still fully dressed, but she could hope.

 

Not that it's done her much good, now. Now she can only pray that she didn't go home with Edwin, who'd been eyeing her uncomfortably since she'd got there.

 

Slowly, so as not to aggrivate her head or stomach, she twists around and peeks above the blankets to be met with a wild head of dark curls.

 

Her stomach sinks, and it's not the nausea this time, but rather the sense of impending doom as her life comes crashing down around her.

 

Or, probably not her _whole_ life, but definitely her job.

 

Because even though she can only see the back of a head, that head undeniably belongs to one Guinevere Smith-Knight.

 

Morgana's boss.

 

Morgana's _married_ boss.

 

With whom she is lying naked in bed.

 

Fuck her life, honestly.

 

 

*

 

 

Unfortunately, the hangover pulsing painfully through her body does not for a very graceful escape make.

 

A pained groan sounds from the other side of the large bed, Gwen rolling onto her front to bury her head under her pillow. Morgana panics, crouching to preserve what's left of her modesty while she blindly searches for her glasses.

 

“Leon c'n you get me s'me p'racetamol?” her boss begs, voice muffled and slurred with sleep and the lingering traces of alcohol.

 

Morgana doesn't reply, searching around instead for some kind of escape.

 

When none presents itself and too much time has gone by with no response from Leon, Guinevere peeks out from underneath her pillowy fortress.

 

“Leon? Wh- oh! Morgana!” Gwen bolts upright, holding the duvet up to cover her chest, wincing at the bright morning light.

 

Morgana's fingers brush the hard plastic of her glasses and she absently slides the frames onto her face, one arm crossed over her breasts. “Mrs. Smith,” she greets calmly, as if she's not _crouched naked_ at her boss's bedside and her heart isn't doing its level best to _beat itself out of her chest_.

 

“I'll just,” she gestures vaguely toward the door, trying to locate her discarded clothing without taking her eyes off of the other woman.

 

Guinevere nods hesitantly and Morgana takes this as leave to turn away, hastily grabbing ahold of her dress and awkwardly sliding it onto her body. She smooths the fabric as she stands and zips it up, stumbling across the room to where her shoes have somehow ended up. She gives her knickers up for a lost cause, unwilling to stay long enough to even attempt to find them. Holding her heels by the straps, she nearly runs for the door.

 

Before she can slip away, she pauses, biting her lips. She turns toward the woman on the bed, and with a confidence she doesn't feel, requests, “If it's all the same to you, ma'am, I'd like to put in my letter of resignation now, myself, rather than wait until...” Her breath hitches, and she swallows. “I'll speak to human resources on Monday; of course I won't mention what's happened, just that I... have another job opportunity elsewhere, or-”

 

“Morgana, you're not fired.”

 

Morgana stutters, blinking rapidly. “W-what?”

 

Guinevere exhales harshly through her nose, one hand pushing her unkempt hair back off from her face, nails raking her scalp anxiously. “Of course you're not fired, Morgana! This whole thing,” she waves around the room at large, “was my fault. I'm the employer – if anyone could possibly be at fault, it's me. It was... an unfortunate, drunken mistake, but of course you aren't to be punished for it; you've done nothing wrong! It's my fault for fancying you – I knew I oughtn't have drunk so much last night, I _always_ regret it afterwards – but if you'd prefer a transfer, I shan't deny you. I don't... I don't want you to be uncomfortable, but please, trust that whatever's happened between us, your job is perfectly safe.”

 

How a woman so ruthless and capable in the board room can be reduced to nervous rambling is beyond Morgana's comprehension, and honestly one of the most endearing things about her boss; one of the major contributors to her crush, in fact -- “You fancy me?”

 

Gwen blushes. “How could I not?”

 

Morgana sags against the door frame and the two stare at each other in silence for a long moment.

 

“Would you like some paracetamol?” Gwen offers. “Only, my head is aching like hell, and I don't imagine yours is any better.”

 

Morgana chuckles quietly. “Yes, please,” she says, sitting on the edge of the bed as Gwen makes her way to the ensuite, not even trying to cover her body and Morgana can't help but watch as she walks away.

 

She gives thanks to her power of control that she doesn't blush when the other woman returns with two capsules and a glass of tap water, dark skin glowing golden in the morning light.

 

Gwen smiles at Morgana's attention and hands her the medication. “I'm going to brush my teeth and then I'll be right back.”

 

Morgana drinks the water, washing away some of the sour taste in her mouth before letting herself fall backwards into the welcoming memory foam, relief hitting her like a train.

 

Her life isn't over. She hasn't lost her job. Surprisingly, it's only a little awkward, but-

 

“Would you like a go?”

 

The taller woman jerks in surprise, having been lost in thought. Gwen raises her eyebrows and waves an electric toothbrush at her. “I've got another brush head... and some face wipes?” And yes, her warm face is free from the smudged makeup of last night. Morgana rubs a finger under her own eye lid and it comes back stained with black.

 

“Yes, thank you. It tastes as if something's died in my mouth,” she admits ruefully and Gwen laughs, attatching the new head to her toothbrush before letting Morgana have her privacy.

 

Several minutes later and she feels almost normal. Her hair is still a mess, but it can wait until she gets home.

 

 

*

 

“Gwen, thank you, I-”

 

Guinevere takes long strides across the room until she's stood not an inch away from Morgana, and the taller woman can feel the warm gusts of her breath and the brush of Gwen's breasts on her skin with every inhale.

 

She gulps, licking her lips and Guinevere tracks the movement.

 

“Do you want to kiss me, Morgana?” the other woman asks quietly, eyes flicking from her lips to her eyes.

 

Morgana's eyes flutter closed. “ _Yes_ ,” she exhales, and Gwen closes the distance, small though it is.

 

Soft lips meet her own and Morgana melts into it, into Guinevere's body, all soft, welcoming curves and demanding hands.

 

Her mind whirls with déja vu as she's pushed back onto the bed, Guinevere rucking her dress back up to bare her body again, Gwen climbing naked between her thighs.

 

“What about Leon?” Morgana gasps, though she doesn't put up much of a fight, instead contorting her body to pull her dress up over her head, further mussing her hair, but leaving her breasts free to Guinevere's attention.

 

“He won't mind,” she assures, but Morgana doesn't get a chance to beg for details before Gwen sets her mouth on Morgana's nipple, already peaked with chill and arousal. Morgana moans, too surprised by the action not to be shameless, and she arches into Gwen's mouth as the shorter woman bites and sucks at her sensitive flesh, her hand coming up to worry the other harshly between her fingers, pinching and pulling and leaving Morgana gasping as pleasurepain flashes through her body.

 

Gwen straddles her thigh, mouth switching breasts and she laves her tongue on Morgana's other nipple, massaging the round globe she left behind. Her free hand travels down the pale, flat planes of Morgana's stomach to dip her fingers into the curtain of her wet curls. She spreads the freely-flowing moisture, slicking up her clit before attacking it with deft fingers.

 

Morgana cries out, screaming. Her legs try to spread, instinctively, one butterflying outward and the other jerking under Gwen's weight. Gwen moans, the sound muffled by Morgana's breast where she's sucking bruises into the under-curve.

 

She pulls her mouth away, panting damply into Morgana's sternum. Gwen licks the peak of her tortured nipple before blowing, and the cool air makes her hiss through her teeth, the sound choking into a gasp when two fingers slide inerringly into the slit of her cunt, pistoning into her at a punishing pace.

 

Morgana hadn't noticed that Guinevere had removed her nails, leaving her fingers blunt and soft where they explore inside her, rubbing into the spongy walls of her G-spot.

 

Morgana bucks underneath her, pushing herself up into Gwen's wet pussy as she rides her thigh, her other leg flailing aimlessly in pleasure before bracing itself around Gwen's body, heel pressing into her soft, round arse. Morgana's long nails leave red welts along the café coloured curl of Gwen's back, but the other woman doesn't seem to mind, instead rewarding her with a hard, messy kiss.

 

They taste of Gwen's minty toothpaste, and they can't quite match up right, lips simply smearing together as they pant into each other's mouths, teeth grazing against whatever they can reach. Gwen slips another finger inside her, rubbing and grinding her pussy into Morgana's leg, and Morgana can't help but pull her in closer, tighter. Her foot slips and falls to the bed and Morgana uses it as leverage, thrusting back into Gwen's dextrous fingers, her hand slipping into the crease of Gwen's arse, fingers brushing teasingly against her puckered hole.

 

Just the hint is enough for her though, and she screams, silently, holding her breath while she rides out her orgasm.

 

Gwen's fingers cease their movement when she comes, and she milks it long enough that Morgana whimpers in frustration, squirming, desperate for the push that would send her over the edge as well.

 

The taller woman's helpless mewling draws Gwen's attention back to task, and before Morgana can make another wordless complaint, she's unseating herself, lifting Morgana's pale legs up over her shoulders and burying her head between them. Gwen's plump lips wrap themselves around her clit, her fingers resuming their quick thrusting.

 

She flicks her tongue against Morgana's swollen bundle of nerves then gives a hard suck and – _yes!_ Morgana screams, thighs coming closed around Gwen's head, nails scrabbling the sheets above her head, fisting the fabric into her hands as she undulates, pushing her hips up into Gwen's mouth as she gushes around her fingers.

 

When Gwen raises herself from the cradle of her legs, Morgana collapses bonelessly into the mattress, shaking as the aftershocks course through her. Gwen drags her back up to the pillows and curls into her side, giggling breathlessly into Morgana's shoulder, still giddy after her own orgasm.

 

They stay like that while they catch their breaths, Gwen stroking Morgana's flank to calm her.

 

Breathing under control, Morgana sighs, blinking drowsily. A soft kiss is pressed into her shoulder.

 

She falls asleep before she can worry further about the consquences; she can deal with it on Monday.

 

Though, perhaps she _won't_ be going to HR.

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> So I asked [my friend](http://archiveofourown.org/users/robyngirlwonder/pseuds/robyngirlwonder) to help me write lesbian frottage. 
> 
> This is what she came up with:
> 
> "uh 'They mashed their blooming lotuses together between the pages of their thighs.' lol"
> 
> Unfortunately I didn't think it quite fit what I was going for here, but it was too good to pass up without sharing with y'all, so here it is, for your viewing pleasure ;)"


End file.
